


A Real Showstopper

by anticyclone



Series: Three's A Crowd [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (they can't be seen), Aziraphale/Pre-Fall Satan | Lucifer (alluded to), Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Consent Issues, Crowley's Snake Tongue, Hair-pulling, I mean he's literally Satan, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Post-Canon, Russian Translation Available, Semi-Public Sex, Unwilling Arousal, Voyeurism, angelic orgasms have side effects, mild psychic control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: "Sounds romantic," Lucifer said, lifting his hand from Crowley to stroke a finger along the slope of Aziraphale's shoulder. He brought his hand up and moved his thumb along the stripe of Aziraphale's neck left bare above his collar.Aziraphale's breath snagged, and Crowley's with it. He didn't think Aziraphale noticed. He found it hard to start breathing again, actually, even while Aziraphale dug his fingers hard against Crowley's hand.They'd planned for a quiet night at the theater, but when the usher takes Crowley and Aziraphale to their seats, they find they've been upgraded to a private box. Very much so - Lucifer does like his privacy. He also likes to watch.





	A Real Showstopper

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Гвоздь программы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744156) by [bangbangbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangbangbaby/pseuds/bangbangbaby), [WTF_Good_Omens_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Good_Omens_2020/pseuds/WTF_Good_Omens_2020)

> One more reason Hell is gonna be real awkward. Many thanks to everybody who already gave feedback, complimented, and encouraged this.

"Excuse me," Aziraphale said, turning to the usher, "but I believe our tickets are for another level."

"No, sir. It says right here."

Crowley touched Aziraphale's elbow. There was no earthquake feeling now, but in some part of his heart he was still a snake. He knew one was coming, and shortly. "It's fine, angel," he murmured. He could tell that Aziraphale was about to argue the point, so he added, "Thank you," to the usher.

That was enough to make Aziraphale shut his mouth.

The usher nodded at them and closed the door to the private box behind her. Once the sound of her footsteps had faded, Aziraphale reached over and absently linked their hands together. That was nice. Still new, but nice.

The first time he'd done it, after the Apocalypse That Wasn't, Crowley had turned to stare at him and walked directly into a lamppost. Cracked his glasses right in half. Dropped straight to the pavement. Aziraphale had kneeled while steadfastly refraining from laughing at him, miracled the glasses whole again, and kissed him on the bridge of his nose before setting them back into place.

Crowley had done the math and thought he could reasonably get away with walking into a lamppost again in six years and two months.

"We could just leave," he said, halfheartedly. Aziraphale's hand was warm in his. It really was nice. He hoped they did make it six years and two months.

"What if it's not… him?" Aziraphale asked. For that he got a snort. He sighed and clenched the program in his other hand. "If it is, would leaving truly help?"

Crowley mulled that over. Below and around them people filtered into the theater. The show was going to start in twenty, because Aziraphale always insisted they arrive with plenty of time. And Crowley's driving techniques might be 'foolhardy,' 'hideously reckless,' and, his personal favorite, 'against the law,' but the one thing Aziraphale had never complained about while riding with him was being late.

It had been three weeks since Lucifer's visit.

"I'd rather hoped he'd lost interest," Aziraphale admitted.

Crowley looked sideways at him, but his eyes were fixed on the chairs and he didn't notice.

"We could go sit in our actual seats," Aziraphale said. They had been to this theater dozens of times and never had tickets in a private box. Aziraphale didn't like the angles. This one actually had a decent view.

"I bet someone else is in them." Crowley was sure that, like the assignments printed on their tickets, the view had not existed an hour ago. His suspicions were confirmed when he tried to catch the eye of a woman in the next box over. Even when he waved his free hand and let a few licks of flame sprout off his fingertips, she kept staring straight through him.

"Oh, this is a fine kettle of fish. Please put that out, dear."

Crowley blew the fire off his fingertips. It was very cool, and Aziraphale was absolutely not paying attention. 

Bless it. "You could leave."

Aziraphale finally turned to look at him and replied, in the tone of someone who did not at all mean it, "I beg your pardon."

He swept his thumb across Aziraphale's knuckles, trying to think. The anxious earthquake-rumble feeling curled. Not in his stomach but through the whole of him. Trying to coil up a body into safety except that despite Crowley's best efforts, the body had too many joints at the moment.

It really was a double-edged coin, Crowley thought miserably. (He had never done in for swords, even Before.) A demon puts 6000-odd years into a body and it starts to get ideas of its own. Like panic. His body was arguing hotly for panic.

"You could leave, angel," he said again, trying to squash the fear down.

"You can't be serious. I'm not _abandoning_ you here."

Crowley grimaced. "Abandoning's a strong word."

"Then why don't you go wait in the car while I have a word with him?" Aziraphale asked.

While something complicated happened on Crowley's face, Aziraphale marched forward and resolutely dropped himself into the middle seat.

Every thought in Crowley's brain immediately ground to a halt. He watched Aziraphale rest his hands on the arms of the chair. Watched him look around, at the audience that couldn't see them. Watched him glance up and stare. Crowley also thought about looking up and cursing whatever divine attention was left to them, except he knew the theater had bloody cherubs painted over every square inch of the ceiling and he really didn't need that right now.

An exhale rolled out of his lungs and he walked across the floor. Aziraphale didn't move as he crossed in front of the seats, but he did look down when Crowley stopped directly in front of him.

"What are you doing?"

Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap. "Sitting. Care to join me?"

"Angel."

"Crowley," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Crowley dipped his head so Aziraphale could see golden eyes over his glasses. He put both hands down on the arms of Aziraphale's seat, bent, and showed Aziraphale what a glare really looked like.

It was a good, practiced glare, and it had nothing against the insistent rising coil-panic between Crowley's ribs. He had the worst urge to corkscrew himself around Aziraphale even though it wouldn't do a blasted thing. Aziraphale would probably just pat his scaly head and say, 'There, there,' because for some reason Aziraphale seemed to have stopped fearing.

"You should leave," Crowley said. "I'll handle him. I'll be fine."

"I've been thinking," Aziraphale said. Maybe he'd unloaded all of his fear onto Crowley. Wouldn't that just be the thing. "I think I might actually do better against him than you, dear."

Crowley actually blinked.

"In the bookshop, I mean. I was alone with him for several minutes and I think… I mean, I was able to look away from him, and it didn't seem like you were."

_Yes,_ Crowley thought. _And then he ordered you to sit and put his hand on your neck and you liked it, and I did, too._

"You shouldn't stay," he said, hoarsely. "You definitely shouldn't take the middle seat."

"I know you had a… reaction to him," Aziraphale started, and totally blew past the way it made Crowley choke, "at the air base. But I didn't, not the same way. I think if I put my mind to it, it won't be as bad as the bookshop. And I won't be surprised this time."

Deliver him from righteous angels. "You can't put your mind to an earthquake, Aziraphale. You can't outthink seismic activity," he hissed.

Thought filled Aziraphale's clear eyes. Crowley gripped the arms of the chair harder, and leaned forward, but Aziraphale spoke before he could keep going, convince him to say 'of course I'll go, my dear boy, wouldn't want an unnecessary confrontation with the Lord of Hell.' Aziraphale didn't know any better and was stubborn enough to keep the same haircut for 6000 years, so of course what he said was, "Tectonics are quite earthly, though. He isn't. And we are, aren't we?"

Crowley groaned. He slumped as much as he could without collapsing into Aziraphale's lap.

Sighing, Aziraphale reached up. He cupped Crowley's face with both hands and kissed him. He even opened his mouth. For an ethereal being, Aziraphale knew how to play dirty. Crowley kissed back out of reflex and then found himself bearing down, his lips pressing at Aziraphale's, his tongue in Aziraphale's mouth, desperate and devouring.

And then the usher was stammering, "Oh! Um, e-excuse us," from the doorway.

"No need to worry. Thank you for your assistance."

Aziraphale let go of him and twisted around to look at the door. Crowley fell into the seat on his left. When he landed it felt like the entire box was going to crack off the wall and dissolve on the audience below. But that didn't happen. Nothing happened. He gripped his chair with both hands while Aziraphale was stuck, nearly gaping. That was Lucifer all right. Of course Aziraphale wouldn't have heard the voice before.

Lucifer tilted his head in a half-nod toward them while the poor usher rushed out, closing the door behind her.

He was in the same black suit, or similar, but his tie was black and he had traded the black shirt for one in oxblood. His hair was just as carelessly styled. Crowley took a full millisecond to seriously consider being a snake. When he was a snake, he had fangs.

Lucifer watched them for an equally full millisecond and chose to approach around the edge of the box, ambling up to Crowley's side first. He lifted one hand, curled his fingers in and touched a knuckle underneath Crowley's chin to tilt his face up.

"Good evening, darling."

"Nice night, Lord," Crowley said back, clipped. It was so easy to hold still. He distantly registered Aziraphale taking his hand and that the angel's fingers were hot against his.

Lucifer glanced down at their hands entwined and let Crowley go without… well, he let him go without. 

Crowley hissed out a breath as Lucifer crossed in front of them and sank gracefully into the remaining open seat. The moment lasted forever and Crowley felt bereft. His entire body was thrumming, no longer with panic. There was a lingering pinprick of searing heat where Lucifer had been touching his chin.

Next to him, Aziraphale squared his shoulders as much as sitting down in a luxurious, private balcony seat allowed.

Lucifer raised one eyebrow. "Is it the voice?" he asked. **Would you prefer I lift the filter?**

Crowley swallowed the sound his body wanted to make.

Aziraphale absently squeezed his hand. "That's - That's quite alright," he said. "We are in public, after all."

"In a manner of speaking." Lucifer draped his arm along the back of the seat, so it framed Aziraphale's shoulders and his fingertips just brushed against Crowley. It was like being struck with a live wire. Crowley went rigid. Lucifer crossed his legs and rested his other hand on his knee. "Surely you noticed that no one out there can see into here."

"I suppose you have a reason for that."

"I like my privacy."

"And Shakespeare, too?" Aziraphale asked.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said, "no one likes Shakespeare as much as Crowley."

Internally Crowley was launching himself over the balcony railing. Externally, he kept as blank a face as possible when Aziraphale blinked and tilted his head, perplexed.

Back in the day he may have overdone it on the Hamlet thing. People had noticed. Or, people-shaped beings had noticed. Eventually. Hell's concept of time was less than firm and he'd been able to tie it together with the theater closures a few decades later. And he'd never let on to Aziraphale about any of it.

They were both staring at him. Aziraphale confused, and Lucifer possibly putting a few disparate puzzle pieces together. Crowley opened his mouth and said, "Yup."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, still looking at him. There were Questions in his future, Crowley could feel it. Aziraphale tabled them to clear his throat and glance out at the stage. "The show will be starting in a minute, anyway. I - We have reservations, after. Crowley and I. Together. Alone, that is."

Crowley spared another millisecond to fantasize about turning into a snake.

"Sounds romantic," Lucifer said, lifting his hand from Crowley to stroke a finger along the slope of Aziraphale's shoulder. He brought his hand up and moved his thumb along the stripe of Aziraphale's neck left bare above his collar.

Aziraphale's breath snagged, and Crowley's with it. He didn't think Aziraphale noticed. He found it hard to start breathing again, actually, even while Aziraphale dug his fingers hard against Crowley's hand.

"It … will be," Aziraphale said, more question in it than he'd probably meant. But he'd still said it. Crowley did have to give him that. Maybe he had been right.

Lucifer regarded them both for a moment. "You don't mind his glasses, Aziraphale?"

Caught off guard, Aziraphale smiled. "I - I think he looks dashing."

_Dashing? Since when?_ an as-yet-unoccupied sliver of Crowley's brain screamed.

"Dashing," Lucifer echoed, an answering smile on his face. He edged over in his seat so his fingers could settle more firmly on Crowley's shoulder. Maybe the seats edged nearer together, too, who could say. He was very close to Aziraphale now, too. "Crowley. How do you think your angel looks tonight?"

Crowley's jaw fell open and he let out, "Beautiful," like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

Startled, Aziraphale swung to look at him. The smile dropped from his face. Crowley was glad there were no reflective surfaces around. He didn't want to see whatever was in his eyes that was making Aziraphale look like that.

"Mmm." Lucifer was watching Aziraphale's chest, the rise and fall of his breathing speeding up, but he addressed his next command to Crowley. "It would be nice to see your eyes, darling."

"Yes, Lord."

Crowley lifted his glasses from his face with his free hand. He folded them up and tucked them into his jacket. Aziraphale's breathing was picking up, anxious, and his teeth worried at his bottom lip. Crowley couldn't stop himself from staring or from clenching Aziraphale's hand tight. Crowley's tongue darted out to wet his lips and Aziraphale inhaled at the same time.

"Angel," he said, softly, just to watch Aziraphale breathe in again. "You know I-" He swallowed, brought Aziraphale's hand up to his mouth, kissed his knuckles. Aziraphale's fingers trembled. Crowley kissed his hand again.

"Crowley…"

Maybe Aziraphale had been right. Maybe if Lucifer had tried something else, it wouldn't have worked.

"You seemed to be in the middle of something when I arrived," Lucifer said. And now his voice was a murmur, and now his voice was in Aziraphale's ear, because he had leaned forward. Now his chest brushed Aziraphale's arm and his fingers were stroking Crowley's shoulder, electric.

Maybe if Lucifer had tried something else, it wouldn't have worked. But he didn't.

He pressed himself up against Aziraphale's side and sent a shock down from his fingers through Crowley's entire corporeal form and he said: "Don't let me interrupt."

It was dark, Crowley thought. The theater had turned off the lights. The show was about to start.

He leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale.

***

Aziraphale was not prepared.

This could pretty much sum up the entirety of Aziraphale's being, at least on his more melancholy days, but right then, in the theater, he was especially not prepared. Something underneath his skin had been humming since Lucifer had laid his arm across Aziraphale's shoulders. Aziraphale tended to hum, too, when Crowley touched him, but this was different. 

This felt less like blood and more like energy. Light straining underneath his skin, trying to seep out.

They weren't in Heaven. Aziraphale had not been bracing himself for light to be pulled up from his core. And they weren't in Hell, either, but … Could Lucifer still do that?

That thought didn't have time to get off the ground. Crowley's exposed, gold eyes were a bare glimmer in the dark. It wasn't fair that he'd had to take his glasses off. His pupils were expanding, he was leaning over, Aziraphale was about to ask why - Then his mouth was on Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale's eyes fluttered closed.

He considered breaking away, but Crowley was bearing down on him, and Lucifer's hand was a pressure against the back of his head. A constraint as fleeting as the impulse.

Earlier Crowley had kissed him back with some measure of desperation. As if nothing bad could happen, if he was kissing Aziraphale.

Both his hands were on Aziraphale's face, now, and Aziraphale realized his own were clutching Crowley's jacket.

The rest of him shook. Blood definitely rushed through him, now. An angel puts 6000-odd years into a body (loses it, gets it gifted back by the Antichrist) and it starts to get ideas of its own. Like lust. Aziraphale's body sang out for lust.

Lucifer's hand settled on the back of his neck and the heat of it made him gasp. Crowley pushed his tongue into his mouth.

Oh. O.

O, Hallelujah.

Aziraphale's back pressed up against Lucifer's chest. Heat rolled over him in a clinging wave. He couldn't breathe. He kept kissing Crowley and his body reminded him, insistently, that he didn't need to breathe. Lucifer laughed. The heat crackled, soundless lightning beneath Aziraphale's eyelids. He had not been prepared for a storm.

Crowley climbed into his lap. The seat armrests seemed to have all vanished.

"That wasn't even me," Lucifer whispered. "One of you is eager."

Aziraphale was rather concerned it was him. He had one arm around Crowley's waist and the other gripping his collar. He was kissing like Crowley was billions of tons of water and Aziraphale was a lurking deep-sea thing who'd die without the pressure.

Oh, it was definitely him who disappeared the armrests. His thoughts were a smashed and scattered mess.

Crowley somehow had the presence of mind to tug off his bowtie. He pulled away enough to slide his hands between them. Aziraphale whimpered and tugged his collar, pulling him back down for more kisses, one after another, frenzied. Crowley's hands were already opening the buttons of Aziraphale's waistcoat. Then his fingers pulled Aziraphale's shirt out of his slacks. Aziraphale groaned into his mouth.

"I got the impression," Lucifer said, lazily, running a fingertip down along Aziraphale's arm, "that you two didn't do this kind of thing until recently. You have some steam to vent, don't you?"

Straddled over Aziraphale's lap, Crowley's knees dug into the seat on either side of his thighs. Aziraphale pulled both his hands away - it was Crowley's turn to whimper - and latched onto his waist with a near-punishing grip. He arched his back and Crowley rolled his hips at the same time.

They were both painfully hard. Aziraphale should maybe not make assumptions, but he certainly ached, and pulling Crowley down against him was only taking a sliver off of it. Crowley certainly ground against him like he was painfully hard.

It didn't help that Lucifer was still stroking his arm up and down. It was like being struck by lightning, each time Lucifer turned to caress him the other direction. Aziraphale trembled and slid back, his shoulders digging into Lucifer's chest. The bright blazing heat radiating from Lucifer pulled in, concentrated on his mouth, like the blinding flash of nuclear fallout.

Aziraphale knew this because Lucifer bent to kiss his throat, just under his jaw.

"Sweet Principality," he said, laughing again as the world went blurry around the edges. "Aren't you still the sensitive thing."

Aziraphale felt air on his skin and was abruptly aware that Crowley's hands had squirmed down to open his belt. He had to pull back for a second to do it, and through the dark Aziraphale could see the lights on the stage, the players. Someone was shouting at someone else and pulling on their hand. The audience held its breath.

His belt _clinked_ as it fell to the floor. Crowley's hand pulled apart his buttons and Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, tangling their fingers together, flailing. The darkness flooded in again because his eyes were closed and his eyes were closed because he was kissing Crowley. Crowley's knees dug in against his thighs.

Aziraphale kissed him again, hands locked into place around his wrists. What was left of his breathing came in desperate gasps. He wanted to be with Crowley, in him, _of_ him, and every strike of lightning from Lucifer's touch was whispering in his ear that it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

Crowley twisted his head to break free and banged their foreheads together. Aziraphale had to blink away spots. Crowley's wrists shook in Aziraphale's grip and his pupils were blown wide.

"He looks good like this, doesn't he?" Lucifer asked.

Aziraphale was not sure who the question was for.

"Angel," Crowley pled. "Aziraphale."

In Heaven, angels could do it. Manifest. Mix. Slip in and out of physical form as easy as stretching a wing.

"Crowley, dearest."

Aziraphale didn't want to let him go. Not for an instant. He'd never asked about demons in Hell, if they could still Manifest the same way. But Crowley was still of the same stock, wasn't he? And it had been oh so long. If Aziraphale asked now, maybe Crowley would say… 

Lucifer breathed in Aziraphale's ear, just loud enough for his voice to carry two seats over. "Don't be a tease, angel."

Crowley shuddered so hard Aziraphale was afraid he'd fall apart.

Then again, perhaps he shouldn't ask.

Aziraphale let him go and watched him slide down to the floor. One of his hands grabbed Aziraphale's knee and turned him so both of his feet were back on the ground - he didn't remember lifting one leg onto the seats, but he must have - and Lucifer loosened his grip enough that Aziraphale's shoulders were against the chair again.

First laying a kiss on the still-clothed curve of Aziraphale's thigh, Crowley bent and took Aziraphale's cock between his lips.

Aziraphale cried out and slapped a hand over his mouth.

With his vision unobscured the stage was clear again. Players walked round each other in circles. Crowley tilted his head and pushed forward, the burning heat of his mouth shooting straight up Aziraphale's spine. The lights on the stage seemed brighter.

Lucifer reached up and tenderly wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale's wrist. He pulled the angel's hand down while Aziraphale looked away, clenching his jaw, trying to keep from wailing while Crowley rocked his head back and forth.

"Come now," Lucifer said. "None of that. You were never shy, Before."

"I can't," Aziraphale said, voice ragged. Light hummed under his skin. Lust sang. He tried to quiet it and couldn't. Crowley reached down and did something with his hand and lips at the same time that made him tremble. "I can't, I can't-"

"Can," Lucifer countered. "Will."

He ran his thumb along Aziraphale's knuckles. Aziraphale risked glancing over and flinched, the light under his skin scouring for cover under darkness. The Morningstar wore several gold rings tonight, on the hand clenching his. They were each inscribed with something that hurt Aziraphale to read (which was really saying something). Looking at it seared shadows into his eyes.

Then Lucifer kissed him and the light came surging back.

On the stage the players hesitated. Not that anyone in the box noticed.

Crowley drew back, torturously slow, lips closed over Aziraphale's cock. He looked up at Aziraphale through his lashes. His pupils were still dilated. Aziraphale whimpered, and Lucifer moved to kiss his throat. Crowley pulled back only to immediately close his lips over the head of Aziraphale's cock again.

"Crowley seems to like watching you be kissed, sweet Principality," Lucifer murmured.

Crowley made a sound low in his throat. Since he'd taken Aziraphale down again, Aziraphale felt it painfully. He jerked his hips and Crowley choked, both hands digging into Aziraphale's thighs.

"Oh. Oh dearest, I'm sorry." Aziraphale fell back to the seat. Pinpricks of light floated at the corners of his sight.

Letting go of Aziraphale, Lucifer reached down and tangled his fingers in Crowley's hair. He pulled, sharp, and Crowley choked again but swallowed Aziraphale's cock down, too. "He can take it, Aziraphale," Lucifer said. "Don't concern yourself."

"But - Oh!"

Aziraphale wished the armrests were back. Not just because Lucifer was soldered to his side, every point of contact its own flare of heat, but because his hands were scrambling, trying to find somewhere to hold onto. Crowley twisted his fingers in the fabric of Aziraphale's slacks and Lucifer pulled on his hair again.

"I do like this look on him, but this was easier when his hair was longer," Lucifer mused. He pushed Crowley's head back, so his mouth was free. He was panting for breath. Smirking, Lucifer said, "Show Aziraphale how talented you are with your tongue, Crowley."

Crowley's eyes swiveled over to meet Aziraphale's. His tongue darted out to taste the air, and, well.

Aziraphale whined.

The corner of Crowley's mouth turned up and his eyes fell half-shut. He licked the end of Aziraphale's cock and then a quick stripe along the underside, before his tongue curled in a way that tongues weren't entirely meant to and Aziraphale found something to do with his hands. He covered his mouth again.

This time Lucifer didn't pull his wrists down. He kissed the shell of Aziraphale's ear and said, softly, "Our Serpent is quite clever, isn't he?"

Crowley was leaning into Lucifer's hand, or Lucifer was pulling on his hair again, or it didn't matter, because the world was blurring at the edges a second time. 

Crowley's tongue was. Crowley's tongue was. It was long. He'd wrapped his tongue around Aziraphale's cock and was bobbing his head, slow. His fingers were pulling so hard at Aziraphale's slacks that Aziraphale found his hips being dragged forward.

Light bubbled underneath Aziraphale's skin. He tried to push it down and couldn't.

Crowley hummed, pleased, eyes still half-closed. He flicked the forked end of his tongue against the base of Aziraphale's cock.

Aziraphale cried into his hands and began to crack open.

On the stage, the players grasped at each other. The audience took a collective inhalation of breath.

Lucifer stilled. "Aziraphale."

Aziraphale raised his hands to cover his eyes. Everything was too bright. Lucifer's blue eyes, Crowley's gold ones, peering up at him, suddenly wide open. The lights on the stage. The little strips of lights along the stairs throughout the theater. The exit signs. The small decorative lights ringing the painted ceiling.

"Aziraphale."

Crowley's jaw went slack, and he pulled away, his mouth free of Aziraphale before his tongue had entirely withdrawn. "Angel?" he asked, blinking. The end of his tongue brushed the head of Aziraphale's cock when he spoke.

Aziraphale swallowed. His hands dropped. He just wanted to look at Crowley, and to float.

And maybe to peel away Crowley's clothes and see if his scales were on display.

_"Aziraphale."_

And also maybe to let go of this crackling light and drown Crowley and himself in the glow.

**Sweet Principality,** Lucifer said, curling his hand over Aziraphale's jaw. He turned Aziraphale to look at him. His eyes were still too bright. They'd narrowed, and there was a small, hard smile on his face. **Let's not test what it takes to contain a divine halo in the middle of a London theater, please.**

There was a little moan. It took Aziraphale a second to realize it was coming from Crowley.

**Wrap this up, darling.**

Crowley tilted his head and sucked his lower lip between his teeth. He slid one hand down from Aziraphale's leg and wrapped it around the base of Aziraphale's cock. Then he looked up at Aziraphale through his lashes and slowly, deliberately, wrapped his now-black tongue back around his cock.

Aziraphale came so hard tears spilled down his face.

On stage, the players fell to their knees. The audience rose to its feet and roared. Near a thousand pairs of lungs and near a thousand voices all at once. It wasn't even close to intermission. Nobody really cared.

Crowley swallowed him and shook the entire time. Lucifer hissed.

It felt like everything whited out, then.

By the time Aziraphale's head cleared, it actually was intermission.

Crowley was still slumped on his knees on the floor, but he had one arm thrown across Aziraphale's lap and had also pillowed his head on Aziraphale's leg. When Aziraphale blinked his eyes clear and wiped a couple of tears off his face with the back of his hand, Crowley opened his eyes and half-smiled up at him.

**Well,** Lucifer said, when Aziraphale risked turning his head. His pale golden hair was mussed and there was a strange look in his eyes. **That was unexpected.**

He snapped his fingers.

All of Aziraphale's clothes were back in place: neat, buttoned, tucked in, what have you. He blinked and touched his bow tie. At his feet Crowley's collar had been smoothed out and his clothes looked decidedly less rumpled. He shifted his weight in a familiar way, the way he did when he'd been doing something for Aziraphale and it had brought him up and over the edge, too, and-

Aziraphale felt his face turn pink.

Lucifer wet his lips when Aziraphale looked at him. Aziraphale realized that his shirt was rather crisp for someone who'd had an angel writhing in his lap for half the evening. He raised an eyebrow, like he was waiting for a review.

"What?" Aziraphale asked, incredulously. _"Both_ of you?"

Crowley let out a peal of strangled laughter and pressed his face against Aziraphale's thigh.

***

They cut out during intermission, which Aziraphale had only consented to once before, when the theater they'd been literally caught fire. Crowley's legs and hips and spine were so wobbly that he had to be supported down the front steps. He didn't know how the Heaven he was going to drive them home, but he needed to figure it out by the time they got to the Bentley.

Aziraphale was a warm, reassuring pressure against his side. He put one arm around Crowley's waist and reached across to hold one of Crowley's hands as they descended the stairs.

Lucifer trailed several feet behind them. He hummed to himself. The melody made Crowley twitch.

In the balcony he'd hauled Crowley to his feet by his wrist and laid a kiss on his temple. **I'll see you to your car, then,** he'd said. **You were marvelous, darling.**

"Nhhng," Crowley had replied.

Honestly, he was trying not to think about it. He kept glancing sideways at Aziraphale waiting for some hint of matching anxiety on the angel's face. Or another glimpse of that pink embarrassment he'd flashed in the balcony, realizing both Crowley and Lucifer had, well, had - Crowley was also trying not to think about that right now. He needed to be able to drive, he told himself.

A standing ovation. They'd got _a standing ovation._

Crowley wanted to stop thinking about it and was also sure that he was _never_ going to stop thinking about it. See them to the car? That meant what he thought it meant, right? His mind kept shouting **encore** at him and he was doing his best to ignore it.

When Aziraphale finally did speak, as they neared the car, he just looked skeptically at the sky and murmured, "It feels like it's going to storm."

"Weather, angel?" Crowley asked, before he could stop himself.

But instead of answering Aziraphale went stiff and pulled Crowley tight against his side, turning to look behind them. Crowley swiveled too.

It took a second for it to sink in, because Lucifer was just standing there, smiling cordially. He was now carrying a slender, silver-crowned cane Crowley had seen before and very much hoped was not about to be unsheathed. Why…? Crowley glanced up and realized Lucifer's eyes were not aimed at them. He and Aziraphale were staring at the same spot.

The Archangel Michael stood on the sidewalk behind them.

She was in an all-white suit with frilly cuffs. Her hair was done up and there was a gold pin in it. Looking at the pin made Crowley's eyes hurt, so he looked down. She was wearing white spats over pristine white shoes.

"Principality Aziraphale," she said, roundly ignoring the fuck out of everybody else.

"Michael. Come to abduct me again?" Aziraphale answered back, calmly. Crowley wanted to kiss him for it. He hadn't gotten to kiss Aziraphale since Lucifer had kissed Aziraphale. He wanted to. Michael might skewer him - or Aziraphale - if he moved the wrong way, though.

If Michael blinked, it was over too fast for Crowley to know for sure. She laced her fingers together in front of herself and cleared her throat. "Heaven agreed on a level of non-interference," she said.

Aziraphale lifted his chin. "I recall."

"This necessitates a certain amount of discretion in return."

Aziraphale glanced over at him and Crowley raised an eyebrow. Maybe hiding the full force of a halo from humans was easier than masking it from Heaven. Aziraphale's forehead creased and he looked back at Michael, lips moving like he was about to say something but with no sound forthcoming. Damned if Crowley had anything to suggest to him.

Michael sighed. It was a pointed sigh. "We don't need manifestations on Earth, Aziraphale. Not these days."

**My impression of the state of things was that there was no more 'we,'** Lucifer chimed in, because the universe hated Crowley personally.

"That describes the larger part of your existence, doesn't it?" Michael said, mildly. She looked him up and down in the manner of a cat rejecting a hand made chicken dinner served on a silver platter. "The voice is a bit much."

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley again, eyes wide. Together they shuffled a few inches backward toward the Bentley. Crowley's spine, hips, and legs were now on board with the idea of being solid enough to drive through the city back to Mayfair.

**Michael,** Lucifer said, threatening-fond. (Crowley had never managed to come up with a good adjective for that particular tone of voice.) **Have you forgotten how to use yours?**

"You know what," Aziraphale blurted, opening the driver's side door for Crowley. Then he shoved him inside. Crowley could hardly protest. "We promise never to do it again. Absolutely no more halos in public. Nice to see you, best be off, take care now."

Michael narrowed her eyes. Not at them, thank somebody. Crowley was busy starting the car and Aziraphale was busy clambering into the other seat. "Why did Aziraphale feel the need to manifest, Satan?"

Oh. Oh. Crowley backed the car away from the curb. Calling him Satan while he was in Morningstar mode was, uh. You didn't do it twice.

**The Principality found himself overcome, I suppose. Happens to the best of us.** Lucifer idly examined the cane in his hands.

"You would hardly know about it, then," Michael said.

They didn't hear whatever was said next, because Crowley gunned it. The Bentley may have caught some air when they rounded the corner at the end of the street. He drove like something was after them and Aziraphale didn't even protest, just sank down into his seat and took deep breaths. His eyes were fixed on the window. A minute from the flat, Crowley found out why.

Lightning spilled across the night sky, illuminating cloud cover that hadn't been there a couple of hours ago. When the thunder hit a second later it rocked the car. The rain was coming down in shuddering gray sheets by the time they pulled up to Crowley's place.

"What," he said.

Aziraphale rubbed a hand over his face. "Michael's voice. Or her _VOICE_, as it were."

Crowley stared at him.

It was Aziraphale's turn to ask, "What?"

"Never heard you do that before," Crowley said, slowly. He was aware that his knuckles were white on the steering wheel and that his legs had shifted to make it slightly less obvious that, uh. Overhead, lighting flashed again. Crowley had been struck by something, anyway. "Can you." He cleared his throat. "Can you always do that? Whenever you want?"

In the passenger's seat, Aziraphale flushed. Then he bit his lip, which made Crowley want to do the same. "Can you," he asked, hesitantly, "always do that, with your tongue?"

It remained, after all, that being around Lucifer took a while to come down from.

By mutual agreement they decided not to wait the storm out in the Bentley, and suffered being soaked as they dashed to the building through the storm.


End file.
